


Prison Without Walls

by JJJunky



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 'The Chute'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prison Without Walls

Prison Without Walls  
By JJJunky

 

Janeway checked the setting on her phaser rifle. It was an action she'd performed three times already. Confined to the small cargo bay on Neelix's ship, there was little else for her to do. Fear gripped her. It had taken them so long to discover the truth about the bombing. Would they find Paris and Kim alive? Vel's and Piri's description of the Akritarian prison made it highly unlikely the two officers had survived their initial introduction to the facility. Starfleet didn't train its officers to be indiscriminate killing machines - a trait they would've needed to keep body and soul together against their fellow prisoners.

"As soon as we dock," Janeway said, a thrill of frightened anticipation touching her spine, "I'll go down the chute first, then Tuvok, followed by Reilly and Novak."

"Captain," Tuvok protested, the tensing of his jaw the only visible sign of his displeasure, "as Chief of Security, it is my duty to enter a hostile environment first."

A small smile curved Janeway's lips. Though the words he spoke were dispassionate, she could hear her friend's buried frustration and concern. Putting a comforting hand on his arm, she explained, "I'm not trying to be a hero, Tuvok. When we hit the bottom of that chute, we'll be vulnerable. It may be for only a few seconds, but that could be long enough to be overpowered. I believe the sight of a woman will shock the inmates and give me time to position my rifle."

"Logical," Tuvok reluctantly agreed. "But wouldn't the presence of your weapon have the same effect?"

"It might." Janeway thoughtfully noted, "I prefer to play all the cards in my hand."

"Understood."

Metal screeched as the small ship contacted an unyielding surface.

Almost knocked off her feet, Janeway quickly regained her balance.

"Sorry about that, Captain," Neelix's tinny voice apologized.

"It's all right," Janeway soothed, her eyes straying to the speaker mounted above Novak's head. "Just let us know as soon as we're docked."

"It was the docking ring I bumped in to," Neelix's embarrassed voice admitted.

While Tuvok and Reilly quickly crossed to the hatch, Janeway closed her eyes and silently counted to ten. Precious seconds had been lost while Neelix made his unnecessary confession. "Hold her steady, Mr. Neelix. We'll be as fast as we can."

By the time Janeway had crossed the short distance to the hatch, Tuvok had it open. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly before climbing onto the lip of the chute. Holding the phaser rifle firmly in both hands, she laid her index finger next to the trigger. As prepared as she could be, she pushed off.

The metal sides of the tube flashed past her at an alarming speed. Despite the seriousness of the mission, she felt a rush of exhilaration. All too soon, her feet hit the bottom with a bone-crushing thud. Barely able to keep her balance, she quickly sidestepped away from the opening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two men moving toward her. Shifting, she stunned them before training the rifle on the main body of the prisoners.

Tuvok landed beside her, his phaser re-enforcing his order, "Hands on your heads."

"Do it now," Janeway growled, in no mood to show sympathy to the tortured men in front of her.

Tuvok's combadge twittered.

"Neelix to Lieutenant Tuvok. We have company. Two Akritarian ships are on an intercept course. I'm not sure how long I can hold them off."

"We're moving as fast as we can, Mr. Neelix."

Reilly and Novak had barely joined them when Janeway saw a familiar figure elbowing his way through the crowd toward her. Her heart leaped at the sight of Kim's battered face. Elation he was still alive took her breath away. The sadness in his eyes banked her joy.

"Captain." Undisguised relief shone in the ensign's dark eyes.

"Where's Tom?" Janeway gently inquired.

The young officer anxiously informed her, "He needs help."

Concerned, she pushed through the crowd in Kim's wake. She thought she'd prepared herself for anything, but she knew she'd failed the moment her gaze encountered the waxy pallor of her helmsman. Kneeling, she put her hand on his chest. Only when she felt its slight rise and fall did she release the breath she'd been holding. Wishing she'd had the presence of mind to bring a medkit, or at least a hypo with a painkiller, she handed her rifle to Kim and helped Novak lift the injured man off the floor. The grunt of pain greeting their action filled her with remorse.

Focused on the man in her arms, she barely noticed the hostility on the faces of the other prisoners. Her nostrils, however, couldn't ignore the stench. The odor of sweaty bodies and blood filled her throat with bile. What kind of people were the Akritarians? How could they treat their own people with such disdain?

As they approached the chute, Janeway reluctantly moved aside and let Tuvok take her place. Only a Vulcan's superior strength could drag the injured man's dead weight up the tube. Reclaiming her rifle from Kim, she gently urged the ensign to follow. He had the shell-shocked look of a man who'd endured more than one should be asked to bear.

When the trio had reached the halfway point, Janeway entered the tube and quickly caught up with Kim. Glancing back, she saw Reilly and Novak covering each other as they made their way up the metal walls. A phaser remained trained at all times on the demented faces filling the chute's opening. A howl of rage announced one prisoner's intention before he started to charge after them. Reilly pressed the trigger. A beam of light struck the man in the chest. Limp, he slid down the tube, where he was attacked by his fellow inmates.

Sickened by the sight, Janeway turned away and climbed with more care than she'd shown before. All it would take was one slip to send her and the two security guards below her to the same fate.

Sweat, made up of equal parts fear and exertion, beaded her brow by the time they emerged from the chute. Kneeling beside Paris, she gently lifted his head into her lap and waited impatiently for Tuvok and Novak to secure the hatch. When they had done so, she tapped her combadge. "Janeway to Neelix. Everyone's aboard."

"Acknowledged. I know it's a little cramped back there, so if there's anything I can do to make you more comfortable . . ."

"Neelix," Janeway interrupted, barely able to keep the anger from her voice, "just get us out of here."

"Of course, Captain."

Their conversation concluded, Janeway heard the Talaxian hailed by an Akritarian patrol. Her grip unconsciously tightened on Paris' shoulder as she listened to the exchange. She shuddered uneasily. If Neelix failed, they all faced a future like the one they had just escaped. A bolt of energy shook the small ship. Janeway struck her head on the wall. Stars danced before her eyes. A touch on her hand claimed her attention. Glancing down, she saw Paris' hand covering her own. Lifting her gaze to the pale face, she was surprised to see an encouraging smile curving the bloody lips. It was weak, but it was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen.

The roar of the engines echoed in the cargo hold as the vessel shifted into warp.

Tom's hand slipped limply to the floor.

A cold shiver crawled up Janeway's spine as his smile relaxed. Blue eyes dulled by pain stared sightlessly up at her. Janeway frantically searched for a pulse. When she didn't find one, she gently placed the limp head on the floor. Holding Paris' nose, she blew air into his mouth. When she still couldn't detect a heartbeat, she put the heel of her hand on top of the other and applied pressure to the lower portion of his breastbone.

Shocked, Kim protectively demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Keeping Mr. Paris alive until we can reach the Doctor."

Counting the compressions, Janeway stopped when she reached fifteen. Pinching Paris' nose again, she blew twice into his mouth. As she shifted to place her hands on the still chest, they were gently pushed away.

"Allow me, Captain," Tuvok offered, copying his superior's actions.

Janeway gratefully relinquished her position. Now, every five compressions, she would breath into the lax mouth. Panting, she tapped her combadge. "Neelix, as soon as we're in range, tell _Voyager_ to beam us directly to sickbay."

"Understood, Captain."

Trustingly, she returned her attention to the long slim fingers pressing with robotic precision. Five compressions. A breath. Five compressions. A breath. Five compressions. She felt the tingle of the transporter as she placed her lips over Paris'.

Rematerializing on the floor of sickbay, she exhaustedly pushed herself away to make room for the Doctor and Kes. As Tuvok lifted the limp form onto a biobed, Kes attached a neural stimulator to the pale forehead. Still kneeling on the floor, Janeway watched with growing despair as shock after shock ineffectually lifted her helmsman's body off the bed.

"Kes," the Doctor tersely ordered, "two cc's of cordrazine."

As his young assistant pressured the medication into a corded neck, the Doctor stepped back. This action made it clear there was nothing else he could do. If the drug didn't work, nothing would.

A gasp brought Janeway to her feet. Tears blinded her as she stumbled to the bed. Laying a hand on Paris' leg, she closed her eyes, drowning in the feeling of relief flooding her senses. It always hurt to lose a crewman. Someone who'd entrusted his life to her. She readily admitted to herself that this loss would've been twice as difficult to bear. Somehow, Tom Paris had broken through her walls. He was precocious and unpredictable to the point of driving her to distraction. Much the same way her little sister Phoebe had done when they were growing up.

Trying to hide his relief, the Doctor gruffly decided, "First we'll repair the wound, then I'll remove the implant."

"No," Kim protested, grabbing the physician's arm. "Tom saw someone try to remove one. It killed him."

"I would hardly compare my surgical skills to a common prisoner's," the Doctor indignantly replied, extracting his arm from the deathly grip placed on it. "I assure you, removing the implant will be a minor procedure for me."

Crossing to the distraught young man's side, Kes gently pulled him to another biobed. "Come on, Harry. Let me take care of some of those cuts."

"I'm fine. Help, Tom."

"He's in good hands," Kes softly reassured him. "He'll be all right. Now it's time to think about yourself."

Finally surrendering to his own pain and exhaustion, Harry allowed himself to be led to an empty biobed. Though his body gave in, his eyes remained fixed on his friend. Fear still shown clearly in their depths.

His nose wrinkled with disgust, the Doctor used a laser scalpel to cut off the rags draping the still form beneath his hands. "Kes, the first thing we need to do," he said, holding his nose as he dropped the smelly cloth to the floor, "is fill them both with a wide spectrum of antibiotics. No telling how many germs have taken up residence."

"I'll get the hypos ready," Kes agreed, crossing to the replicator.

Feeling dirty after her own contact with the inhabitants of the Akritarian prison, Janeway scratched her shoulder. "I'll be in my quarters. Let me know if there's any change."

"Of course, Captain," the Doctor insolently replied.

Eagerly anticipating the opportunity to cleanse her body, if not her soul, Janeway turned. For the first time, she noticed B'Elanna Torres hovering in the entrance to the Doctor's office. Idly wondering what her Chief Engineer was doing in sickbay, Janeway managed a tired smile, "Are you all right, B'Elanna?"

"Yes."

The reply was short and terse. Not unusual for the half Klingon, but there was an irregularity in her stance that made Janeway's intuition sound an alarm, "Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?"

"No!" Torres snapped. Her eyes rested on Janeway and shifted to Paris, before returning to her superior. "I better get back to engineering."

Surprised, Janeway noticed the young woman was blushing. As Torres quickly turned and strolled out of sickbay, Janeway wondered what would embarrass her half Klingon chief engineer? Just another strange and unusual occurrence in the Delta Quadrant.

***

Contrary to what she had told the captain, B'Elanna didn't head to engineering. Partially because she had no desire to inflict her present mood on her staff. She was confused. A state she'd rarely experienced. She felt the need to throw something. The instruments in engineering were far too delicate to endure her emotional turmoil.

Her nerves on edge after the rescue team's departure, she had decided to expend some of her excess energy repairing the Doctor's computer terminal. There were other duties she could attend to with far greater importance. It was her concern for Harry Kim that made her choose sickbay. Or so she believed.

Why, she angrily asked herself, striking her thigh with a clutched fist, had she been so worried about Tom Paris she had barely noticed Kim's presence? When Paris and Janeway materialized, it appeared as though the captain was kissing her helmsman. Though it had taken B'Elanna only a few seconds to realize her superior was administering artificial respiration, it was long enough for her to be filled with an almost uncontrollable rage. She had wanted to tear Janeway's heart out.

Growling deep in her throat, B'Elanna entered her quarters. The door had barely closed behind her before she picked up a sculpture from the corner of her desk and threw it across the room. The crack as it shattered, only partially alleviated her rage. What was wrong with her? Tom Paris was her friend. She could appreciate and even admit to a certain amount of fear when she realized how badly injured he was. What she couldn't understand was the anger she felt toward Janeway. It appeared to have no foundation.

***

"Come on Harry," Paris urged, pushing away from the biobed, "we're overdue for that steak dinner."

"I guess so," Kim unhappily agreed, copying his friend's actions.

"Whaddaya mean you guess so?" Paris put his arm around the younger man's shoulders. "It was the thought of that dinner that kept us going. So . . ."

Janeway smiled gratefully as she watched her officers stroll out the doors of the sickbay. She was a little concerned about Kim's obvious depression. But she had every confidence a little time and a lot of Tom Paris would alleviate the problem. While Neelix might promote himself as the official morale officer, Janeway knew Paris could achieve more with a smile and a few words of encouragement. It was surprising that a man who had endured such hardships could have retained such sensitivity.

Unwilling to intrude on their private therapy session, she waited a few minutes before following them out. She sighed as she remembered the stack of reports sitting on her desk. She had managed to ignore them the past few days as they cautiously traveled through Akritarian space. Now there were no more excuses to keep her from the tedious task.

The change of duty shift made the corridors more crowded than usual, slowing her pace. She didn't mind. It gave her the chance to greet crewman her schedule gave her far too little time to associate with.

Their confrontation with the Akritarians behind them, the crew's mood was much more relaxed than it had been. Though they had acquired some much needed food stores, Janeway still wished she had never heard of Akritari. She longed to put the accursed planet far behind her. While it was physically possible to do so, it would be a while before her conscience could follow suit. Especially since she still had the reports to verify and file concerning their visit.

Finally reaching her ready room, she sat at her desk. Chakotay's padd was on the top of the tall stack, so she started with it. It recorded the successful return of the rescue team and the release of Vel and Piri. After experiencing an Akritarian prison first hand, Janeway was glad Liria had refused to exchange her officers for the young terrorists. She even, secretly, wished the children luck in their fight for freedom. With the terror tactics employed by their government, she had little hope they'd succeed.

Putting aside the warp core report, Janeway next chose to read Harry Kim's account of his ordeal. It was precise and to the point, just what she'd expected. He hid nothing, not even his attack on the injured Paris. Tears collected at the corners of her eyes. She could almost feel the young ensign's remorse and guilt.

Emotionally drained, she ruefully regarded the remainder of the reports. She would read them in the morning after body and soul had time to be rejuvenated. A tired mind was a lousy analyst.

***

Paris pushed the pieces of steak around his plate before reluctantly putting a small piece in his mouth. How could something he'd craved for so long fill him with such loathing?

"What's the matter, Tom?" Kim asked, his gaze resting on his own empty plate, before shifting to Paris' almost full one.

"I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought," Paris ruefully admitted, laying his fork down. "Do you want the rest?"

"It's your steak," Kim protested.

Picking up his friend's empty plate, Paris pushed his own across to take its place. "I can't eat anymore. Why waste good food? Not to mention replicator rations."

Kim needed no more urging. Sprinkling more salt on the tender meat, he lifted a piece to his mouth. "So, do you want cherry pie or chocolate ripple ice cream for dessert?"

"Neither," Paris admitted, patting his stomach. "I couldn't eat another bite."

"Are you feeling all right? Maybe you should see the Doc."

"Because I'm not hungry? He'd throw me outta sickbay."

"There's got to be a reason why you're not hungry," Kim insisted.

Yawning, Paris agreed, "Exhaustion could be a factor. I never could sleep very well in a biobed. I hate to be an ungracious host, but I think I'll hit the sack as soon as you're finished eating."

Kim hastily swallowed the last few forkfuls of mashed potatoes. "You go ahead, I'll clean up."

"Leave it," Paris suggested, stretching tired muscles, "I'll clean up in the morning."

"All right," Kim reluctantly agreed, crossing to the door. "Will I see you at breakfast?"

The thought of Neelix's idea of morning fair making him nauseous, Paris shook his head. "I think I'll sleep in. I'm not scheduled for duty until second shift."

"Lunch then?"

"Maybe." His stomach heaving, Paris tried to hustle his guest out the door, without seeming to do so. "I'll see you sometime tomorrow, Harry."

"All right," Kim dispiritedly acknowledged.

The doors had barely closed behind his friend before Paris rushed to the bathroom. Losing control of his stomach, he threw up the meal he had just eaten. Muscles continued to cramp with dry heaves long after there was nothing left. Crawling over to the washbasin, he shakily pulled himself to his feet and wet a towel. Collapsing back to the floor, he wiped his face and neck with the cool cloth. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the wall.

He had never appreciated how precious silence could be until now. There were no screams of rage echoing around the room. No cries of pain to keep him awake all night. No reason to lie sweating with fear, afraid someone would kill him - or worse - while he slept. He was on _Voyager_ now. Safe. Surrounded only by his friends.

His stomach finally settling down, he rose to his feet, a little more steady this time. Entering his bedchamber, he slipped off his uniform and crawled between the clean sheets. Here was another luxury he had taken for granted.

Closing his eyes, he willed his exhausted body to relax. His muscles had just started to obey the orders from his brain, when a scream rent the air. Bolting from his bed, he ran blindly toward the door. He'd only gone a few steps when he slammed into the lounger. The power of his momentum flipped him over the side. He landed on his back with a force that drove the breath from his body. His right leg was twisted painfully beneath him.

"Computer," he gasped, "lights."

Momentarily blinded by the sudden glare, he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. His empty stomach heaved at the sight of the ragged bloody bone protruding from his calf. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he dragged himself to his desk. Even the slightest movement created waves of pain that threatened to carry him into a black abyss. He had to reach his combadge before he passed out. It was ironic; he could bleed to death in the safety of his own quarters as easily as he had almost done in the Akritarian prison. His eyes focused on his combadge, he tried to ignore everything else. The pain and the fear became enemies he had to defeat, before they could destroy him.

When he finally held the communicator in his hand, he stared at it in amazement. His fingers were trembling so violently, he was afraid he would drop it. Squeezing it between his index finger and thumb, he called, "Paris to sickbay."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the Doctor answered.

"I have a little problem."

"Could you be more specific?"

"I seem to have broken my leg."

"Doctor to transporter room. Lock onto Lieutenant Paris' coordinates and beam him to sickbay."

The transporter chief's acknowledgement had barely whispered through the air when Paris felt the familiar tingle of the transporter beam. He wasn't looking forward to explaining his accident to the Doctor. The physician wasn't known for his sympathetic nature.

***

Refreshed from a good night's sleep, Janeway checked in with Chakotay before returning to her ready room. She would much rather have stayed on the bridge. The endless sea of black pin-pricked by the distant glow of thousands of suns, never failed to excite her. It was unfortunate duty and her own conscience joined forces to guide her to the reports stacked on her desk.

Entering the spacious room, she crossed to the replicator and ordered a cup of coffee. She might as well have something to enjoy while she tackled the distasteful task of reading and filing reports. Still, as much as she disliked the chore, she couldn't discount its importance. When they made it back to the Alpha Quadrant, these records would be invaluable aids to any ships sent to investigate this section of space.

She studied the different padds before reluctantly choosing Tom Paris' account of his imprisonment. She almost wished she could file it unread. Like Harry Kim's, it was sure to be emotionally wrenching. Determinedly picking up the padd, she thumbed it on. She'd never been one to put off a difficult duty. She wouldn't start now.

***

Paris moved carefully as he climbed into the uniform Kes had thoughtfully provided. It had been humiliating enough to arrive in sickbay naked. He had no desire to walk the corridors in the same state of undress. The whole experience had made him decide he would never sleep _au natural_ again.

"How does the leg feel, Lieutenant?" the Doctor inquired.

"It feels great, Doc."

Crossing to his patient's side, the Doctor ran a scanner over him. "It may feel all right, but just remember it was a severe break. It'll take a while before it's completely healed."

"I'll remember," Paris assured him. "I better hurry. I'm due on the bridge in half-an-hour."

The Doctor put a hand on his patient's chest, "I'm relieving you of duty, Lieutenant. I'll inform the Captain."

"But I'm fine," Paris protested, his mood veering sharply to anger. "I'll be sitting behind the conn all afternoon. That won't put a strain on my leg."

"Your leg is only part of the problem. In the two days since your rescue, you've yet to regain any of the weight you lost during your incarceration. In fact, you have somehow managed to lose an additional three pounds. Such a weight loss is not beneficial to your health. I will not release you for duty until you regain at least five pounds."

"Oh, come on, Doc!"

"There is no sense in arguing, Lieutenant. I've already made my report."

Paris' hand scratched the back of his head where the implant had been. The fury it had once invoked returned, making him want to lash out. Sanity returned as quickly as it had fled. Fear replaced the anger. He'd come perilously close to striking the Doctor. The blow wouldn't have damaged the hologram, but that he could so quickly resort to physical violence to solve his problem filled him with dismay. Had he become an animal like the ones who inhabited the Akritarian prison?

"Are you all right, Mr. Paris?"

"Fine," Paris quickly replied, afraid the physician had seen his lapse. "I used all my replicator rations on that steak dinner last night. So, I guess I better go see what Neelix is serving."

Trying to appear eager, Paris hurried from the sickbay. Though his stomach was already rebelling at the mention of food, he forced his feet to carry him to the mess hall. More than anything, he wanted to return to duty. He had to return to duty.

***

Puzzled, Janeway laid down the padd she'd been reading. Paris' account of his ordeal was remarkably similar to Kim's. Too much so. According to Harry, Tom had been in the Akritarian prison for two days before the younger man's arrival. But there wasn't a word in Paris' report concerning those forty-eight hours. What had it been like for Tom? Alone against so many?

Her thoughts shadowed by the specter, she picked up the Doctor's report. As usual, it was precise and detailed when he addressed Ensign Kim's injuries. There were only two words following Lieutenant Paris' entry: Contact me.

The hand holding the padd shook slightly as she contemplated the physician's intent. What was so important he had to tell her in person instead of in a report? Her heart in her throat, she rose. She couldn't wait for the end of the duty shift to get her answers. She needed them now. Walking from the room onto the bridge, she didn't feel the same peace she'd felt when she entered. Walking purposefully to the turbolift, she said, "I'll be in sickbay."

"Understood, Captain," Chakotay acknowledged.

Using a technique she'd learned in the Academy, Janeway blanked her mind. The answers she sought would only be found in sickbay, not in her imagination.

Striding through the infirmary doors, she ordered, "Computer, activate the Emergency Medical Holographic Program."

"I'm already activated, Captain," the Doctor informed her, standing in the entry to his office. "I was just about to contact you."

"I read your report concerning Lieutenant Paris," Janeway explained.

"That was not my purpose for seeking you out at this time. I wanted to inform you that I've taken Mr. Paris off the duty roster."

"Why?" Janeway demanded, a flicker of apprehension coursing through her.

Beckoning her into his office, the Doctor defended, "Yesterday, when he left this room, he was fine. Late last night, he managed to trip over his lounger and break his leg. He was lucky it wasn't his neck."

"Is he all right?" Janeway asked, noticing the empty biobeds.

"He will be. I sent him to get something to eat. He's lost more than thirteen pounds since his incarceration."

"Is that a dangerous amount?"

"Not necessarily. It's the manner in which he lost it that concerns me. Such a loss in a short period of time puts a strain on the heart."

"Then all he has to do is eat?"

"If he can."

Trying to disguise her annoyance at the physician's ambiguity, Janeway growled, "Could you be more precise, Doctor?"

"Did you read his report?"

Surprised to get a question in answer to her own question, Janeway hesitantly replied, "Yes."

"What did he say about those two days he was in the prison prior to Mr. Kim's arrival?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing!" the Doctor anxiously repeated, absently dropping into his chair. "How could he do that?"

Crossing to the desk, Janeway rested the palms of her hands on its flat surface. Leaning toward the physician, she let her arms bear her weight as she demanded, "You tell me, Doctor. I'm not accustomed to having my officers submit incomplete reports."

"I suppose it's possible," the Doctor softly speculated.

"What's possible?" Janeway snapped, her face clouded with uneasiness.

"When the mind is traumatized," the Doctor quietly explained, "it will sometimes block out the entire period of time in which the incident occurred."

Icy fear twisting around her heart, Janeway asked, "Doctor, do you know what this incident is that could make Tom act insubordinately?"

"From the damage I had to repair, I can guess."

"You mean there were other injuries beside the stab wound?"

"Yes. One kidney was so badly bruised it had shut down."

"But that wasn't the worst of it, was it, Doctor?" Janeway tonelessly asked, a pulsing knot in her stomach demanding more.

Looking uncomfortable, the Doctor shook his head. Avoiding her piercing gaze, he revealed, "He was sexually assaulted."

Janeway closed her eyes. Her breath came raggedly in impotent anger. The arms supporting her upper body shook, the only visible sign of her distress. Pushing away from the desk, she said, "And you think Tom doesn't remember the assault?"

"Not consciously. There would be no reason to keep it out of his report. He must know I discovered the injuries and reported them."

To Janeway's dismay, her voice broke. "So what do we do?"

"While the parameters installed in my programming included those of a counselor, it takes more than knowledge to successfully counsel a mentally injured being."

"Does that mean you can't help him?"

"It means I don't know what to do to help him. I'm as out of my depth as you are."

***

The closer Paris got to the mess hall, the more nauseous he became. Despite the discomfort, his steps never faltered. He could endure anything, even Neelix's leola root stew, if it meant he could return to duty. The sense of fulfillment that enveloped him when he sat at the conn settled his rebelling stomach. He would find peace again in the stars. And the contentment he craved, once his hands danced across his console in confident control. He needed that return to normalcy. He needed it badly.

The doors to the mess hall opened at his approach. Smells wafted around him making his stomach muscles cramp in protest. Noise assaulted his ears filling him with dread and forcing a retreat.

"Ow!"

Paris jumped, eliciting another cry of pain from his victim. Stumbling forward, he turned to apologize. His heart dropped when his gaze encountered B'Elanna Torres' stormy countenance. Realizing in this instance words would have little meaning, he nonetheless persevered, "I'm sorry."

To his surprise, B'Elanna smiled.

"It's all right," she said, stepping around him. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you."

Shock at the normally hot-tempered engineer's response froze Paris in his tracks. For a precious moment, he forgot his nausea and basked in the warmth of an all too infrequent occurrence - a Torres smile.

Embarrassed by the unwavering stare of her companion, Torres frowned, "Are you coming? Or aren't you?"

Still in a partial state of shock, Paris absently followed her. It wasn't until he watched Neelix throw piles of multi-colored food onto a plate for him, he recognized his mistake. His stomach churned sending him an unmistakable warning. Ignoring it, he picked up his tray and crossed to a small table in the corner. He wished he could as easily ignore the shouts and cries of the other occupants of the crowded room. The noise made him want to run as fast and as far as he could. No one could hurt him if he was alone.

His emotions were mixed when B'Elanna joined him. Any other time, he would've been encouraged by her attention. At this moment, he wished her a million miles away. He couldn't run and hide.

"Shouldn't you hurry?" Torres asked, indicating the untouched food in front of her friend. "You're on duty in fifteen minutes."

Reluctantly filling a fork with a bluish/green substance, Paris shook his head. "The Doc's relieved me of duty."

"Why?" Torres demanded, enthusiastically attacking her own meal.

"I tripped and broke my leg."

"On what?"

Embarrassed, Paris finally admitted, "My lounger."

"Tough break," Torres commiserated.

"Ha, ha."

Another smile graced the normally grim countenance. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to be funny."

Feeling as though he'd just received a wondrous gift, Paris shook his head. "It's all right. I just didn't expect you, of all people to make a pun."

"I'm not always the growling Klingon," Torres protested.

"I'm discovering that."

Engrossed in the conversation, Paris unconsciously shoveled forkfuls of the various dishes into his mouth. He barely noticed the taste or texture, until it tried to retrace its path. Fighting to keep the food down, he quickly took a sip of fruit juice. With its usual route blocked, the liquid backed up, going down an alternate opening. No longer in control, Tom spit up the excess juice. A fit of violent coughing shook him as his automatic reflexes tried to clear the blocked passageways. Embarrassed, he put a hand over his mouth in an attempt to prevent his meal from escaping.

Concern darkening her eyes, Torres partially rose and put a hand on his back. "Tom, is there anything I can do?"

Humiliated, Paris wanted to ask her to leave. To his dismay, he realized not only couldn't he speak, he couldn't breath. His hand desperately fluttered toward his throat as he bonelessly tumbled from his seat. As he fought for a single breath, he barely registered the pain as his shoulder slammed into the floor.

"Tom!"

Paris could feel Torres strong hands on his abdomen. The quick upward thrust provided no relief. Stars danced in front of his eyes. The worried faces of his friends blurred into a colorless sea.

"Transporter room two," Torres, all but shouted in her anxiety, "lock on to Lieutenant Paris' coordinates and beam him directly to sickbay."

As a peacefulness settled over him, Paris was glad the last person he would see in his life was B'Elanna Torres.

***

Troubled by her interview with the Doctor, Janeway slowly made her way back to the bridge. The matter of what to do concerning Tom Paris' selective amnesia was left unresolved. Neither felt qualified to make the decision on how to proceed. When the Doctor requested some time to review their options, Janeway had been happy to grant it.

"Chakotay to Captain Janeway."

"Go ahead, Commander." About to enter a turbolift, Janeway halted and waited for a reply.

"Lieutenant Paris was just beamed from the mess hall to sickbay."

"What's the nature of his injuries?"

"Unknown."

"I'll be in sickbay if you need me."

"Understood."

Turning, Janeway retraced her steps at a much quicker pace. What could've happened to Tom now? The mess hall wasn't generally considered a dangerous section. Even as she contemplated the what, a more important question of why claimed her attention. Why did these accidents keep occurring?

Janeway reached the doors to sickbay at almost the same moment as B'Elanna Torres. "Do you know what happened to Tom?" she demanded of her chief engineer.

"One minute we were eating lunch, the next, Tom started choking," B'Elanna explained, following her superior through the doors. "Then he couldn't breath."

Bent over his patient, the Doctor growled, "That is what usually happens when one tries to inhale their food, instead of eating it."

Flinching as she watched the physician slide a tube down Paris' throat, Janeway asked, "Could you elaborate, Doctor?"

"Apparently, the cuisine didn't agree with Mr. Paris. When his stomach tried to purge the unwelcome substance, he fought his body's natural reaction. Instead of aspirating his meal, he inhaled it into his trachea."

"In other words," Janeway clarified, "he was choking on his own vomit."

"Crude, but essentially correct." 

"Is that life threatening?"

"He could have suffocated. He had stopped breathing by the time he arrived in sickbay."

"How is he now?" 

Handing the tube to Kes, the Doctor said, "He might have a bit of a sore throat, but otherwise he'll be fine."

Janeway closed her eyes and whispered a quick, silent thank you. She wasn't enjoying this emotional roller coaster her helmsman was taking her on. She hoped the ride would come to an end - soon.

***

Paris ground his teeth in frustration as another shuttle sailed past the window of his quarters. He mentally evaluated the pilot's performance and found it wanting. Why did the captain continue to use these amateurs and leave someone of his skill sitting on his hands? What did a few missing pounds have to do with flying a shuttlecraft?

The M-class planet they were orbiting was uninhabited and overflowing with many of the supplies _Voyager_ needed. The lower nitrogen mixture made it a little uncomfortable for the crew laboring below, but the prospect of raising their energy reserves, and consequently increasing replicator rations, made it worth the effort. Everyone was working overtime to achieve their goal. Everyone, except Tom Paris.

Turning away from the view, his eyes encountered a knife he had laid out in preparation for his evening meal. A wave of vulnerability made his muscles turn to jelly, dropping him to his knees. Pulling his arms in close to his chest, he rocked gently trying to push away the numbing void. A blurred face swam in the air before him. Though he couldn't see it clearly, terror gripped him as his gaze focused on the thick lips moist with drool. He gasped, fighting for each painful breath. He had to escape - or lose all sense of his own identity.

Staggering to his feet, he wiped the sweat from his eyes. As he turned to leave the haunted room, he caught a glimpse of his ashen face in a mirror. There was nothing he could do to hide the pallor. All he could hope was that no one would notice. His head high, he walked briskly from the room. The corridors were crowded as the crew worked feverishly to complete their tasks. They barely noticed the ghost walking among them.

As if they had a mind of their own, Paris' feet led him to the shuttlebay. He wasn't even sure he had made a conscious decision to come here. Once he entered the large open compartment, he felt at peace. They wouldn't think to look for him here. If they did, he resignedly knew he would just have to find a way to escape again.

A low popping sound and a change in the air pressure alerted him, drawing his attention to the large opening. The _Cochrane_ had just passed through the protective forcefield and was coming in for a landing. Tom's hands itched to feel the controls of the shuttlecraft beneath them. Desire drew him closer.

"That's far enough, Hot Shot."

A hand pulled him back to the edge of the safety zone. He was still close enough to almost get blown over by the wave of forced air the craft created as it landed.

"What are you doing here?"

Paris reluctantly drew his attention from the shuttle to the person at his elbow. His heart skipped as his eyes met B'Elanna Torres'. For a moment, he thought he saw concern in the brown depths.

"Shouldn't you still be in sickbay?"

His gaze returning to the shuttle, Paris shook his head. "The Doc released me a few hours ago."

"Then shouldn't you be in your quarters resting instead of standing here evaluating piloting skills?"

"I've had plenty of rest."

"It doesn't look like you have to me," B'Elanna growled, giving him a black-layered inspection. "In fact, you look like you're ready to collapse."

Annoyed, Paris backed away from his friend, "Thank you for your diagnosis, Dr. Torres. If you don't mind, I think I'll get a second opinion."

The shuttle's doors opened, grabbing their attention. A crew quickly moved in, deploying their anti-grav units to unload the cases containing precious food supplies. They had just loaded the last case and pulled it from the shuttle, when one of the anti-grav units failed. The cargo tilted drunkenly, before crashing to the floor. The top flew open revealing a purplish root resembling a cauliflower in shape and size.

Paris had only a moment to notice the odd vegetable before it was engulfed in flame. Despite the quick action of the crew and the automatic fire retardant system, the fire spread, licking across the bay, seeking the other cases.

"Lieutenant," a soot-encrusted ensign addressed Torres, "our extinguishers seem to be feeding the fire."

Dense smoke already beginning to restrict her vision, Torres ordered, "Everyone out. We'll open the bay to the vacuum of space. Fire can't survive without oxygen."

Smoke trickled down Paris' raw throat. Despite the discomfort, he couldn't take his eyes off the dancing flames. They smiled at him, offering the escape he'd been seeking. His eyes burned. Tears blurred his vision. For the second time that day, his lungs cried out for air. He'd heard B'Elanna's order and watched dispassionately as they were obeyed - by everyone except him. He couldn't leave. If he did, escape might elude him.

Flame licked at his hand. The pain awakened him too late. Disoriented, he tried to get his bearings in the smoke filled chamber. To his left was the entrance, but the doors would already have been sealed. To his right was the shuttle with a supply of oxygen masks. In between was the fire. Oxygen deprived lungs burned in his chest, forcing a decision. Tears washed his eyes and streamed down his face cutting grooves in the soot. His options gone, he cradled his arms over his head and plunged into the fire.

Though his uniform resisted the seeking flames, it trapped the heat against his skin. He could feel the blisters forming over his back and shoulders. Barely able to keep moving, he kept his eyes focused on the open door of the shuttle and the salvation it offered.

***

When Ensign Kim informed her there was a fire in the shuttle bay, Janeway placed the bridge in Tuvok's capable hands and hurried to evaluate the situation for herself. Life and death decisions were difficult enough without depending on secondhand information.

Approaching the small group huddled outside the shuttlebay, she was surprised to see B'Elanna Torres frantically working on the manual override to open the doors. Since enough time hadn't elapsed to extinguish the fires, there could be only one explanation for her actions. Someone was trapped inside. "Lieutenant, report."

The command drew Torres' attention for a brief moment. A nod acknowledged her superior's presence, before she returned to her task. "Lieutenant Paris didn't make it out in time, Captain."

"What!" Surprise siphoned the blood from Janeway's face. "What was Paris doing in the shuttlebay?"

"That's what I was trying to find out when the accident occurred."

"Have you tried to have him beamed out?"

Wires crackled as sparks flew, backing Torres away from the open panel. Waving a hand to dissipate the smoke, she ignored the discomfort and unhesitatingly resumed her chore. "The transporter chief can't get a lock. Whatever caused the fire is blocking the signal."

"Tell me what happened."

Her hands continuing their delicate manipulations, Torres explained, "We were unloading the _Cochrane_ when an anti-grav unit failed. I only had time to notice the case was filled with a purplish plant when it burst into flame."

In a voice cracking with anxiety, Janeway demanded, "How much longer before you can get those doors open?"

"I've almost got it."

Reaching for a fire extinguisher, Janeway said, "Everyone get ready."

"The extinguisher won't work, Captain," Ensign Ryan nervously informed his superior. "The chemicals feed the fire, rather than retard it. Try this."

Janeway reluctantly took the blanket the young ensign handed her. It wouldn't be much protection against such a formidable opponent.

"All right," Torres warned, "I'm opening the doors. Bridge, re-initiate the force field to the shuttle bay."

With a jerk and a squeak, the doors partially opened. As she squeezed through, Janeway saw a few small, isolated fires still smoldered. But she couldn't see Paris. Oxygen poured in through the open door fueling the flames. Blankets were proving to be as ineffective as the fire extinguisher had been.

"Captain," Torres tugged at her superior's elbow and guided her toward the _Cochrane_. "Tom must be in the shuttle."

Smoke from the rising flames swirled around her as Janeway quickly followed Torres across the bay. It took several precious minutes to bypass the melted controls and access the manual override to open the door. Slumped inside was Tom Paris, an oxygen mask slued across his face. Noticing the blisters bubbled on his hands and neck, she winced. The pain must be excruciating.

"Captain," Ryan stuck his head inside the shuttle, "you better hurry. We're losing control of the fires again."

Silently apologizing for the agony she was about to inflict, Janeway ordered, "Ryan help Lieutenant Torres get Paris out of here."

"Aye, Captain."

With Janeway and the others beating a path to the door, Torres and Ryan half carried, half dragged the dead weight of their comrade to safety. Smoke burning her eyes so she could barely see, Janeway was the last to emerge from the fiery bay. A coughing fit dropped her to her knees, preventing her from closing the door behind her. As Torres crawled around her to complete the task, Janeway fought for control.

"Bridge, drop the force field to the shuttlebay," B'Elanna ordered, her words punctuated by a throaty cough.

Sadness filled Janeway's eyes as they rested on her helmsman. Tapping her combadge, she said, "Transporter room, can you lock onto Lieutenant Paris' coordinates now?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Beam him directly to sickbay."

As the sparkle of the transporter beam de-materialized the injured man, Janeway called, "Bridge?"

"Go ahead, Captain," Tuvok answered.

"Tell Chakotay not to send any more shuttles back until we find out what caused this fire."

"Acknowledged. I'll start the investigation immediately."

Nodding her approval, Janeway glanced proudly around at the men and women who'd risked their lives to save their shipmate. "Everyone is to report to sickbay and have the doctor check you out."

"Including you, Captain?" B'Elanna innocently inquired.

The ends of her lips curving slightly, Janeway nodded. "Including me."

Joining her chief engineer for the long walk to sickbay, Janeway's worried thoughts turned to her helmsman. Why had he been in the shuttlebay when he was supposed to be in his quarters resting? Everyone else had made it to safety before the automatic fire doors closed. Why didn't Paris? He had been hurt three times in two days. Was it bad luck? Or was it something else?

Limping and coughing, the small group entered sickbay. Kes immediately left the Doctor's side to assist the new patients. Confident her crew was being well looked after, Janeway crossed to the surgical biobed and its still occupant. She was surprised when Torres joined her. "How's Mr. Paris, Doctor?"

"He's got second degree burns on his shoulders, back, chest, and arms. Third degree on his neck and hands. He's also suffering from smoke inhalation."

Her hands itching to offer the injured man physical comfort, Janeway restrained her natural impulse to touch. "Will he be all right, Doctor?"

"Though the lieutenant won't appreciate my skill in repairing his injuries - again," the Doctor dryly observed, "he'll be fine. This time."

At first, Janeway thought the physician's comment was made in reference to Paris' proclivity for injury. The worried glance resting on her for a brief moment made her think otherwise. "What's wrong, Doctor?"

"As soon as everyone's been treated," the Doctor said, carefully cutting the uniform off his patient, "I'd like to talk to you, Captain."

"Call me whenever you're ready, Doctor."

Crossing to Kes, Janeway allowed herself to be purged of the smoke she'd inhaled. A twinge of pain still accompanied every breath. Along with a raw throat, she'd been left with a disgusting taste in her mouth. Realizing her discomforts were nothing compared to what Paris would endure when he woke up, Janeway let her worried gaze rest briefly on her injured helmsman before strolling briskly from sickbay.

Her ordeal caught up with her by the time she reached the bridge. Her steps were slower as she walked to her chair and sat down. A soft sigh of relief escaped her lips.

"Captain."

Tuvok's voice drew her weary attention.

"I've discovered the cause of the fire."

"Already!" Though she knew she shouldn't be, Janeway was still surprised by the Vulcan's efficiency. She valued his abilities, almost as much as his friendship.

"It wasn't difficult," Tuvok gently admonished. "Lieutenant Torres reported it was a purple-colored plant that ignited when its container was accidentally opened. I had Commander Chakotay conduct some experiments, and he discovered the plant will burst into flames when it encounters an atmosphere that is seventy-five percent or higher in nitrogen. As you know, Voyager's atmosphere is seventy-eight percent nitrogen."

Her exhaustion evaporating in the wake of the information she'd received, Janeway enthused, "Well done, Tuvok. From now on, I want everything tested before its sent up to the ship."

"A necessary precaution," Tuvok agreed. "I'll also have the supplies we've already procured analyzed."

"Warn the crewmen to be exceedingly careful." Janeway frowned and shuddered as she reflected on Paris' condition. She didn't want anyone else to suffer the same fate. "We don't need supplies so badly it's worth anyone's life."

"Understood."

"Captain?"

For once, the Doctor's voice filled Janeway with dread, rather than the frustration she usually experienced. "Go ahead, Doctor."

"Could I see you in my office at your earliest convenience?"

"On my way."

A mixture of emotions battled inside Janeway as she returned to sickbay. She was puzzled. Why did Tom Paris keep having these accidents? It made her angry. Hadn't he been through enough already?

When she entered sickbay, Janeway crossed to the surgical bay. The skin around Paris' face was a bright red, the only evidence of the severe burns he'd sustained. In time, even that would fade. What concerned her more was the prominence of his bone structure. It pointed to a graver problem.

"Thank you for responding so quickly, Captain."

Worried eyes rose to meet the Doctor's. "Is he going to be all right?"

"That's what I need to discuss with you." With a raised hand and a slight nod of his head, the physician silently suggested they continue the conversation in the privacy of his office.

Surprised by her own reluctance, Janeway hesitantly led the way into the small room. Sitting in the chair in front of the desk, she crossed her arms. It was a defensive gesture that gave her a false sense of security.

"As you know," the Doctor began, circling the desk and taking his own seat, "I've been making a more intensive study concerning amnesia than my programmers deemed necessary. What I found is very disturbing. It's my opinion, Lieutenant Paris is trying to commit suicide."

"No," Janeway's shocked protest was barely audible.

"It's not a conscious decision," the Doctor hastened to inform her. "I believe he's trying to escape the memory of the assault. These accidents weren't really accidents at all. They were abortive attempts to kill himself."

Janeway's gaze shifted to the still figure on the biobed. "How do we make him stop?"

"We force him to remember."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"It could be," the Doctor conceded. "But it can't be any more dangerous than letting him run loose on this ship in his present mental state."

Horrified by the images his suggestion invoked, Janeway asked, "When will you talk to him?"

"Actually, Captain," the Doctor looked down at his hands in an unusual display of humility, "I was hoping you would assist me . . ."

"I don't . . ."

"He respects you, Captain. As you know my bedside manner isn't always soothing. I'm not sure he would readily open up to me. I could make things worse instead of better."

"I think you underestimate yourself, Doctor."

"When I was programmed, I was intended for emergency use of a physical nature. I can heal his broken bones and burned skin, but I know nothing about healing his shattered soul."

Janeway bit her lip until it throbbed like a pulse. She was the captain. She couldn't turn away when a member of her crew pleaded for her assistance. No matter how desperately she wanted to. She understood the Doctor's fears, because they were her own. Neither of them were trained counselors. The course of action they had chosen to employ could do more harm than good. However, the only alternative was to let him work it out on his own. So far, that avenue had led to three visits to sickbay in two days.

"When do you want to talk to him?" she asked.

"Now." Intercepting his superior's surprised glance, the Doctor hastily elaborated, "The sooner he admits the truth, the sooner he'll begin to heal. Frankly, Captain, I'm scared. I can't predict what he'll do. Next time, my skills may not be good enough to save him."

A chill crept down Janeway's spine making her shudder. As a captain, the hardest thing she'd had to learn to accept was the death of someone under her command. It was one thing to die defending your ship and your comrades. Bile rose in her throat at the prospect of losing one of her officers by his own hand. It was even more obscene when that officer was Tom Paris. He'd endured so much already. She couldn't let him lose his life over an incident he couldn't even remember.

Rising from her seat, Janeway caught the physician's eyes with her own. "Let's get started, Doctor."

As she followed the physician to the biobed, Janeway cleared her mind. Nothing must distract her from her primary duty - saving Tom Paris' life.

The Doctor pressed a hypospray to his patient's neck. The stimulant acted immediately, returning the young man to a conscious state.

Putting her hand on the younger man's arm, Janeway gently asked, "How do you feel, Tom?"

"Lucky," Paris admitted, cautiously sitting up. "I don't know why I didn't get out of the shuttlebay before the doors closed."

Janeway glanced at the Doctor before replying, "We think we do. We believe your actions may have been deliberate."

"You think I wanted to die?" Paris angrily denied, his gaze resting first on his superior before shifting to the Doctor.

"That's exactly what we think," the Doctor confirmed, capturing the brilliant blue eyes with his own.

"That's crazy! I've never been happier in my life than I've been here on _Voyager_."

"You weren't happy in that Akritarian prison those two days before Mr. Kim arrived. Were you?"

Paris' defiance wilted, leaving confusion in its wake.

"You told Harry," Janeway gently explained, " you had been in the prison for two days prior to his arrival."

"I did?"

"What happened to you in that time?"

Desperately seeking an answer that would satisfy his captain, Paris stuttered, "What did I say in my report?"

"Nothing." Fighting to maintain a strong facade, Janeway revealed, "Your report went straight from your interrogation to Mr. Kim's arrival in the prison."

"I don't . . ."

"How did you get the knife, Tom?" 

"I must've made it."

"There wasn't time. I saw firsthand the welcome a new inmate received at the bottom of that chute. Mr. Kim had you to protect him. I had a phaser rifle. What did _you_ have, Tom? Who protected you?"

Covering his face with his hands, Paris whispered, "There was no one there to save me."

Clamping down on the cry creeping up her throat, Janeway knew she couldn't back down now. No matter how horrifying, she couldn't let the memories hide again. They had to be faced and excised. "How did you get the knife, Tom?"

"He claimed me as his," Paris said, closing his eyes and pulling his legs up to his chest. "When I tried to make him understand I belonged to no one, he beat me, but only around the chest and stomach." A guttural growl, unlike Tom's normal voice said, "Can't mark the pretty face."

Even though she knew what was coming next, Janeway couldn't stop shaking. In this case, knowledge wasn't the great liberator.

"I finally passed out." Blue eyes opened to stare sightlessly across the room, " . . . he was inside me. The pain was so great, I almost passed out again. The others stood around cheering him on." Wrapping his arms around his knees, Paris hesitantly continued, "When he . . . when he thrust, I saw the knife in his belt. On the next thrust, I took it. He bellowed with rage when he realized what I'd done. I stabbed him in the stomach. It didn't slow him down at all. He came at me with his fist. I blocked his punch and stabbed him again. It just made him madder. He charged. I . . . cut his throat. I killed a man and never even knew his name."

Her legs shaking beneath her, Janeway limply sank onto the edge of the bed. Sitting beside the tortured man, she searched for words to ease his pain. Her eyes filled with tears. There were no words of wisdom to ease such distress. Putting her arms around him, she drew his head down to her shoulder. He didn't utter a sound or try to pull away. Hot tears soaked through her uniform, branding her skin. Now he had remembered, she would have to try to help him forget again. She couldn't recall when she had faced a more formidable task.

***

B'Elanna walked slowly down the corridor. Oblivious to the bodies rushing past her, she carefully worked out a plausible excuse for her presence in sickbay. Not even to herself would she admit that she was worried about Tom Paris. There was no reason for her to be. If anyone asked, she would simply explain that she wanted to check the repair job she'd done on the Doctor's terminal.

Her plan formulated, she picked up her pace. By the time she reached sickbay, her steps were long and brisk. She was concentrating so hard on her story, she failed to notice the sickbay doors didn't open at her approach. Quick reflexes saved her from a broken nose. Raising her hands, she bounced off the doors.

Striking the offending object with a balled fist, she ordered, "Computer, open sickbay doors."

"Unable to comply."

Puzzlement warred with frustration. "Why not?"

"They are under coded lock."

About to issue her own authorization code to rescind the order, B'Elanna hesitated. "Whose code was used to lock the doors?"

"Captain Janeway's."

Anger joined the other emotions fighting for dominance. "Computer, locate Lieutenant Paris."

"Lieutenant Paris is in sickbay."

Pulling her punch, B'Elanna struck the wall with her fists. A fire burning hot inside her, she turned away. What could Janeway be doing in a locked room with Paris? Even more curious, why was the answer so important to her?

***

Paris unhappily contemplated the multi-colored food on the plate in front of him. Even healthy, he'd found some of the dishes Neelix concocted difficult to digest. To a stomach that was just starting to accept the nutritional substances placed in front of it, the dinner was far from appetizing. Resolutely picking up his fork, he speared a rainbow-hued melon-looking substance. He made a face as a stream of sour juices attacked his taste buds.

"That good, huh."

Rapidly swallowing the fruit that had suddenly become sickeningly sweet, Paris greeted B'Elanna Torres. "It's pretty safe if you stick to the foods that are only one color. The others deliver a surprise punch."

"Thanks for the recommendation," Torres said, sitting at the table across from her friend.

"Then again, you might want to live dangerously."

The banter gone from her voice, B'Elanna growled, "You do enough of that for all of us."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Making an obvious attempt to bank the fires of her infamous temper, B'Elanna asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Paris hesitantly admitted. "As soon as I put on a couple more pounds, the Doc will release me for duty."

Avoiding her companion's eyes, B'Elanna revealed, "I came to see you in sickbay, but the doors were locked. Apparently under the captain's orders."

Paris ducked his head hoping to hide the blush burning his cheeks. The Doctor and the captain had assured him his ordeal in the Akritarian prison would be kept secret. No one else would ever know, unless he chose to tell them. "We were having a little talk," he evasively explained.

"About?"

"About his accidents," Janeway answered, taking the seat next to her helmsman. "We decided he was spending too much time in sickbay and not enough at the conn. We reviewed safety procedures."

B'Elanna bit her lip. Though obviously uncomfortable with her superior's sudden appearance, she didn't back down. "I wasn't aware it was necessary to conduct such a discussion behind closed doors."

"Considering Mr. Paris' propensity for injury recently," Janeway smiled and shook her head, "I didn't want any interruptions."

"Do you think it helped?"

"Only time will tell."

Paris relaxed back in his seat and absently popped a piece of the rainbow melon into his mouth. Someday, he hoped to be close enough to someone that he could tell them of his ordeal. Right now, he was grateful for the support of he was receiving from the captain and the Doctor. He no longer felt an overwhelming need to escape. He only wanted to get on with this life he'd been given.


End file.
